


put a ring in it

by gummies



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Aftercare, Boot Worship, Cock Warming, Dom/sub, Gags, Humiliation, Light Asphyxiation, M/M, Oral Sex, Safe Sane and Consensual, Semi-Public Sex, Sex Positive Asexual Character, Subspace, Watersports, oh boy here we go - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-26
Updated: 2020-04-26
Packaged: 2021-03-01 21:21:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23853745
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gummies/pseuds/gummies
Summary: Unable to form words behind the gag in his mouth, Jon hummed in response. It was funny, he thought, how such a simple device could do so much. Could render him so helpless. Just a ring of rubber and some straps, nothing more. The thing was of a good quality, of course- it’d originally been part of Tim’s collection, after all. Smooth and sleek, with a buckle that Jon would be hard pressed to undo on his own, even with the use of his hands.Not that that was a bad thing.No, Jon liked the gag. It might have been a little uncomfortable, especially at first, but it helped. When he wore it, he didn’t have to worry. Not about accidentally compelling someone, or worse,purposefullycompelling someone. Not even about putting his foot in his mouth and making a blunder of things. He couldn’t. He simply didn’t have the choice.
Relationships: Jonathan Sims/Tim Stoker, Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 7
Kudos: 285
Collections: Rusty Kink





	put a ring in it

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be a quick fill (https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=42084#cmt42084), but as is the way with me, it got a tad longer than i originally intended. oh well!

“How’re you doing down there?”

Jon’s eyes blinked open slowly as he was addressed. There were no others to meet them, however. He was kneeling obediently under Tim’s desk, hands folded together behind his back, his head resting between Tim’s casually splayed knees.

Unable to form words behind the gag in his mouth, Jon hummed in response. It was funny, he thought, how such a simple device could do so much. Could render him so helpless. Just a ring of rubber and some straps, nothing more. The thing was of a good quality, of course- it’d originally been part of Tim’s collection, after all. Smooth and sleek, with a buckle that Jon would be hard pressed to undo on his own, even with the use of his hands.

Not that that was a bad thing.

No, Jon liked the gag. It might have been a little uncomfortable, especially at first, but it helped. When he wore it, he didn’t have to worry. Not about accidentally compelling someone, or worse, _purposefully_ compelling someone. Not even about putting his foot in his mouth and making a blunder of things. He couldn’t. He simply didn’t have the choice.

His mouth didn’t belong to him anymore. Which was fine, honestly. It wasn’t like Jon had ever done much good with it in the first place. When the gag was in, he was other people’s responsibility. All he had to worry about was taking what he was given. 

Speaking of which- something pressed against Jon’s cheek, and then he felt one of Tim’s hands in his hair, stroking fondly. He nuzzled into the touch without a second thought. Tim chuckled, scratching his nails against Jon’s scalp. Jon moaned, and Tim’s cock hardened further in his jeans.

“Good to hear it,” he said. The hand retreated and Jon made a sad sound. “Oh, be quiet. You’re so spoiled, you know. Getting to sit here at my feet all day while I have to work. Because I’m, you know, actually a person.”

Chastised, Jon ducked his head, rubbing it against Tim’s thigh in apology.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Not your fault you’re so needy. How about you make it up to me, put that mouth of yours to something _useful_ for a change?”

Jon nodded eagerly, and heard the sound of a zipper being pulled. Tim took Jon’s jaw in one hand, shifting it for access, and then something thick and heavy was being fed into his waiting mouth.

This was another thing Jon hadn't been good at, at first. Tim was well-hung, a step or two up from average, and his cock was a struggle to take. Jon had learned the best way to do it was to relax his throat completely, ignoring the reflex to choke and sputter as the head pushed in past his only defence, bottoming out completely in one long, torturous glide.

Jon could barely breathe like this, face pressed flush to Tim’s lap. But that didn’t matter- this wasn’t about his comfort. It was about being a good hole for Tim, something nice and soft to warm his cock when he got bored of his paperwork.

Tim let out a contented sigh, bringing his hand back to Jon’s head and carding his fingers through his hair. Jon had no time to prepare when Tim grabbed a handful and yanked him backwards. He let out a small yelp of alarm, muffled completely by the cock in his mouth, which he was promptly sunk back onto. His throat fluttered involuntarily as it happened, desperately trying to expel the intrusion. He weathered through the urge to choke, forcing himself to go limp, to accept the face-fucking he knew he was about to receive. 

With Jon's throat lax, the next thrust was smoother. Tim's cock slid out just far enough to rub the salty taste of precome onto Jon's tongue, then back inside. It had the ease of a puzzle piece slotting into place, and Jon was almost overcome by how good it felt to give in and let himself be _used._

His mind floated a little, quieted in the way that only this could make it. Slowly but surely, Jon's head emptied of thoughts. They leaked out of him with each jerk of Tim's hips, with every nudge deeper into him, until there was nothing in his mind but a gentle haze, nothing to focus on but the sensations washing over him like a warm bath.

Tim pulled out almost all the way when he came, leaving only the head between Jon's lips and, from the sound of it, stroking himself off. Jon stayed still, waiting compliantly. He ran his tongue over the tip of Tim's cock, giving it an encouraging swipe. A second later and Tim was cursing above him, Jon's mouth flooding with come.

Jon swallowed it all down eagerly, licking Tim’s softening prick clean.

“Hm. Not too bad, today.” Tim teased. “You’re getting better. Still need practice, though. Maybe I should get you a piece for your gag, keep you nice and full while we’re busy. Would you like that?”

Breath hitching, Jon nodded his head as best he could. He liked having things in his mouth- fingers, cock, toys. He didn’t care much for which it was, he just needed that feeling of fullness, of _helplessness,_ of his powers being so far out of reach that he couldn’t even try to use them. 

Tim carded his fingers through Jon’s hair, petting him like a kitten. “Like I said, _spoiled._ You’re lucky you have such generous owners. I’ll see what I can find.”

Jon hummed appreciatively. He was still in that soft, fuzzy space where thoughts could barely reach him- aided in part by Tim’s petting. He kept one hand on Jon’s head as he went back to work, a soothing, possessive weight.

Some time later, a door opened. Jon listened as someone new entered the room, closing the door gently behind themself. They started speaking to Tim, and though Jon was too out of it to understand most of the words, he recognised the voice.

“Is Jon over there?” Martin asked, calm and inquisitive. Jon heard the scratch of wood on wood as a chair was pulled out, the quiet creak of its legs as Martin sat down.

“Yep,” Tim answered. “I see that look- don’t worry, he’s fine. I checked in, say, half an hour ago? You haven’t missed much, today.”

Martin huffed in annoyance. He didn’t sound angry, just more tired than usual. “I wasn’t worried! You don’t even know what I was going to say!”

“Sure.” Tim said, and Jon could hear the smile in his voice. Tim had been smiling a lot more lately, ever since they started this whole arrangement. He probably needed the stress relief. Jon felt a little guilty that it had taken him so long to help, but that thought slipped away quickly. “So, want a turn?”

“It’s fine- aren’t you using him right now?”

“Not really.” Tim admitted. "Finished a bit ago. He's being real needy today- aren't you, Jon?" He squeezed the nape of Jon's neck, and Jon let out a low keen. "Told you. Sure you don't want a go?"

"Oh, what the hell," Martin murmured. "Sure. if you're done with him, then yeah, I guess I could use a bit of a pick-me-up."

"Hear that, Jon? You've got another customer. Come on, off, don't want to keep Martin waiting." Tim dragged Jon off his cock with a wet _pop._ Jon fluttered his eyes open just in time to watch the thin thread of spit connecting the head to his tongue break. 

Jon licked his lips, face flushing slightly. He could only imagine how he looked, eyes half-lidded, lips bruised, mouth held wide open and vulnerable.

Tim scooted his chair back, giving Jon room to leave the space under his desk. Jon squinted at the sudden light, eyes too glazed over to take much in.

"You can use your hands to get over there, but put them back away once you do." Tim ordered, foot smacking into Jon's back just hard enough to knock him off balance. Jon landed on his hands and knees, the heel of Tim's shoe on his arse, directing him forward.

Jon crawled, head hung and quietly panting, until he bumped into something solid. He looked up to find Martin smiling down at him.

"Hi," he said, reaching out with one of his large, handsome hands to tuck a loose strand of hair behind Jon's ear. Jon pressed his face into the hand, moaning as two warm fingers slipped past the gag. 

It was embarrassing, being kept spread open, permanently available. But Jon liked it. Liked how it made him feel so vulnerable, so empty, as if his mouth was nothing more than a hole to be filled.

He tried to suck on Martin's fingers, but all he ended up doing was making more of a mess. Drool dripped down his chin as Martin rubbed the pad of his thumb over Jon's tongue. He tried to chase the digits when they finally pulled away, whining pitifully.

"Shh, come on," Martin said, gently tapping Jon's side with the toe of his boot. 

There wasn't much room under Martin's desk, but Jon tucked himself in anyways. Martin's legs took up most of the available space, and Jon had no choice but to slot himself between them, head bracketed by Martin's strong knees. It left Jon's face perfectly level with his crotch, where he was just beginning to harden.

Jon swallowed in nervous anticipation, clasping his hands behind his back and bending to mouth at the growing bulge in Martin's jeans. He would've undid the zipper if he could've, if he'd been given permission to use his hands. But he hadn’t, so he didn’t. Instead, Jon settled for lapping at the clothed prick, running his tongue across it pleadingly.

Martin took pity and undid his trousers, making a sound of satisfaction as he pulled himself free of his briefs. Jon felt his mouth water at the sight. Martin was only half hard, but he still had an inch or two on Tim, and his cock was almost threateningly thick. It always left Jon's throat sore and raw, no matter how tender Martin was.

Leaning back in his chair, Martin closed his eyes, seemingly content to let Jon work at his own pace. Taking that as permission, Jon licked a stripe down the shaft, savouring the way it twitched at his touch. 

Jon wanted Martin in his mouth _immediately,_ but he held back. Prior experience made him take care to wet Martin's prick fully before taking it, if only to make the process go a little smoother. Plus, Jon knew Martin enjoyed it.

It wasn't all that difficult, even if he was only allowed to use his tongue- especially considering just how much Jon was drooling. By the time he'd finished, the cock in front of him was shiny with spit, flushed and fully hard. It took a few tries for Jon to get it into his mouth. His aim was off, head still feeling pleasantly stuffed with cotton. The fat tip glanced across his parted lips twice, both times leaving smudges of precome on his cheek. On the third, it finally went in, the head just shy of too big as it popped past the gag.

Jon relaxed easily, and he was grateful that Tim had already warmed him up earlier. It was a good thing Jon had the gag to wrench him open to his jaw-aching limit, otherwise he might not have been able to fit all of Martin. As it was, he went in easy, filling Jon’s mouth until he could've sworn there was no space left inside him, only cock. 

He was only about half-way down Martin’s prick when he ran out of room in his mouth, so Jon braced himself, pushing forward. He swallowed, fighting off the reflexive panic as his throat convulsed.

The tip breached him slowly, drawing his throat open and holding it stretched wide as he sunk onto the shaft. Jon whimpered, but the sound was lost. His eyes burned. Tears flooded them, overflowing when he blinked and adding to the rest of the mess on his face.

It felt like a small eternity until Jon reached the end of Martin’s cock. It was nearly impossible not to choke- Jon had to stay completely unmoving, every shift or tightening of his muscles cutting off his flow of air. Just as he was about to pull back, Martin stilled him with a comforting hand on his head. From the new angle, Jon couldn’t see Martin’s expression, face buried in the soft, curly hair that trailed up to the man’s navel. He could, however, hear the small moan Martin let out, the way his voice shook slightly when he next spoke, could feel the way it reverberated through his body.

“That- that’s good, that’s so good, Jon. _You’re_ so good.” Jon flushed at the praise, and realised with a small jolt of shame that he was getting hard. He loved the way they talked to him during this, like he was somewhere between a pet and a toy. Something to be ordered around and used, but also praised and played with. “Don’t move, you- you’re at the perfect place. I need to get started on these papers, but just stay right there, okay?”

Jon hummed in confirmation, and Martin's fingers moved to his face. They wiped the tears and precome from his cheeks, mixing the two together on Jon's lips. Jon whined, and they travelled lower, brushing over his neck before giving it a firm, punishing squeeze, momentarily asphyxiating him. He shook as Martin touched him, stroking himself through the tight confines of Jon's trembling throat.

Then, just as soon as it'd appeared, Martin's hand was gone. Jon squeezed his eyes shut. He made a valiant effort to ground himself, to hold on to his thoughts, but they slipped through his fingers like sand. Above him, Tim was saying something. Martin responded in kind, but Jon heard neither of them. He didn’t need to. It was enough for him to stay kneeling and obedient between Martin’s legs. And so he did.

Time passed strangely while Jon was in his headspace, escalating wildly between too slow and too fast. His jaw throbbed and his knees were begging him to get up, but the pain faded into a sort of background noise, easily filtered out to make room for what was important: focusing on warming Martin’s cock. Jon did stay still- for the most part, at least. Occasionally, he’d forgo a breath or two so he could suck, making his mouth into what he hoped was a soft, wet vacuum around the base. Other times, he’d twist his tongue around where it was forced flat until the tip could tease at Martin’s balls, leaving a path of drool in its wake.

Martin didn't react much, save a few small thrusts here and there. Which was why Jon was pleasantly surprised to feel a hand return to the back of his head, gently drawing him out of his own mind.

"Jon?" Martin asked, cupping his jaw.

Jon hummed in acknowledgment, relishing the shiver it got him.

"Get ready to swallow, okay, sweetheart?"

Jon faltered in his haze. Then the realisation of what was about to happen hit him, and his heart sped up. He knew he must've been blushing furiously, even as he nuzzled further into Martin's lap.

The stream started slowly, a hot trickle down the back of Jon’s throat. He didn’t even _have_ to swallow. His throat fluttered to no avail. Martin’s prick was lodged deep enough that there was no chance of it coming back up, not even when Jon gagged. There was no respite. Only a steady, spreading warmth as Martin’s piss filled him.

Martin let out a relieved sigh from above him. He patted Jon's cheek reassuringly, as if to encourage him.

Jon wanted so badly to hate it. He _should've_ hated it. It was humiliating, beyond degrading, stripping him of any residual sense of dignity. But to Jon's utter mortification, he didn't. 

Instead, he could feel himself hardening, dick straining against his trousers. Jon wanted so badly to touch himself, the heat brewing in his stomach and travelling down between his spread thighs. But he hadn't been given permission, so he willed himself still, hands around each other. If only his legs were a little closer together, then he might be able get some kind of friction. He was frozen, locked in place by the embarrassment and the arousal.

Jon belonged to Martin and Tim. He was theirs to use as they saw fit. And if they wanted to use him as their own personal urinal, who was he to object? It wasn't as if Jon was above it. He already spent so much time on his knees, what did it matter if they’d found something new for him to do there?

At least Martin had prepared him. It was more than could be said for Tim- the last time he’d used Jon this way, he hadn’t thought to give a warning, and Jon had ended that day even more of a mess than usual.

Back in the present, Jon startled as Martin pushed him back, easing him off the cock one inch at a time. Jon gasped for breath, throat suddenly shockingly empty- only to choke and sputter as it was quickly filled. 

Martin kept one hand on the back of Jon’s head, but the other was fisted around his cock. He was mostly soft. It sent another jolt of sweet, awful humiliation through Jon to know that this wasn’t even that big of a deal to Martin, not anymore. Jon was being pissed in because it was _convenient._

Unable to turn his head away in Martin’s grip, Jon watched as the tip stayed aimed for his waiting mouth, a torrent of urine landing on his tongue. The taste was sharp and distinct, and to his horror, he moaned.

There was just _so much._ And with his mouth permanently open, Jon had no way to stop it from overflowing. The only solution was to swallow as fast as he could, quaffing down gulp after gulp of piss. By the time the stream finally, _finally_ petered off, Jon felt full and heavy. He panted, tongue hanging out. There was a thin line of urine dribbling down the side of his jaw that Jon wanted desperately to wipe away, but he didn't have the energy left to try.

"Good- good boy," Martin murmured. When Jon glanced upwards, he saw Martin's cheeks were blushing with pink. The adoration written over his face was almost too much for Jon to bear, but his face was held still when he tried to look away.

"I know you've been working so hard today, but I need you to hold on for just a little bit longer. Once I've finished with these files we'll be done, and I'll clean you up, and then we can go home. Tim's already left, so there'll be a bath waiting for you and everything, I promise." Jon whined plaintively. He was beginning to regain his senses, and everything _ached._ A bath sounded divine.

Martin stroked the side of his face. "Would it help if you got a reward to tide you over?"

Jon perked up immediately. Throughout his latest use, Jon's cock had remained hard, if neglected. He looked up at Martin with wide, pleading eyes.

"Er, I'll take that as a yes," Martin said, chuckling. Then, voice more stern: "You can pull down your trousers if you'd like, Jon, but don't touch yourself. If you want to get off, then you- you can rub against my leg. But,” he added, “you have to clean up any mess you make, after."

Nodding enthusiastically, Jon released his wrists. He flexed them experimentally, groaning at the stiffness in his joints. Then he quickly undid his trousers, pulling them down as much as he could without getting up. Once they were reasonably out of the way, he shuffled forwards, straddling Martin’s boot. Martin watched all the while, still gripping his hardening cock.

He hugged Martin’s leg. The boot was, all in all, surprisingly pleasant to rut up against. It was solid and sturdy under him, and Jon let himself relax down onto it, pressing his face into its owner’s calf. He could smell Martin’s laundry detergent through the lingering scent of piss, and the combination sent him grinding his hips.

“I’m so glad you let me do this,” Martin babbled, tangling his fingers into Jon’s hair. “I know you get stuck in your own head a lot, but, just, I want you to know that it means a lot to me, helping you get out of it. And you’re- you’re so sweet, so obedient. I love it more than anything, you do such a good job helping me relax, warming my cock, letting me use you like a- a-”

Jon didn’t last long. The built-up anticipation, the mortified arousal, the praise- they might have all been distracting on their own, but combined, they completely overwhelmed him. Martin had begun rocking his leg in time with Jon's fevered clinging, and Jon gasped as he felt the head of his cock catch against the sleek material of Martin's boot. The friction was torturously good, and Jon came with a soft keen.

He slumped over, shuddering through the last waves of his orgasm. The thoughts that'd just begun returning lost semblance, coming apart under the weight of his fatigue. Jon was tired, but it was a comfortable sort of exhaustion. He felt oddly grounded in its enormity, like there were anchors tied to his ankles, leading him down into calm, warm water.

Before he could fully submerge, however, Martin scooted his chair away, nudging Jon back onto the floor. Jon made a confused noise, only to have his head tilted towards Martin's boots, and- Oh.

In front of his face was Martin's boot, the instep splattered with Jon's come.

"Don't tell me you forgot your instructions so quickly," Martin teased, giving the back of Jon's head a firm push. Jon let himself be guided. His arms shook, nearly too weak to hold him as he bent down and dragged his tongue across Martin's shoe. Behind his own fluids was the taste of old, fake leather. Martin's boots were clean, thankfully, but they were still _boots._ If someone had told him what he was doing, say, a month in the past, he'd never have believed it. And yet, here he was. Licking Martin's boots like a well-trained dog.

Jon didn't have it in him to be humiliated. And why should he? He was only following orders, just doing what Martin told him to. 

It only took a few seconds to clean his mess, but Jon made sure to be thorough. With the gag, he couldn't stop himself from drooling, and most of his effort was put into lapping spit up off of the boot before more replaced it. He only stopped once Martin pulled him away, lifting his head.

"One last job, and then we can go home." Martin said. Jon watched as Martin's cock was levelled between his lips, the flushed tip poking out from behind foreskin. Martin gave himself a squeeze, eyes trailing lovingly over his body. When they met his own half-lidded, glazed-over gaze, Jon shivered. 

Martin’s grip stopped him from pulling away, but it also prevented him from leaning closer. He settled for sticking his tongue out as invitingly as he could, wordlessly begging to be used one last time.

It must’ve worked, because Martin came. He muffled a groan into his shoulder, thrusting into his hand, but kept his sights trained on Jon the entire time. His come hit Jon’s tongue and coated the back of his throat. Jon swallowed. Now that he was paying attention, his throat felt _shredded,_ like it’d been rubbed with sandpaper. Despite the ache, he couldn’t bring himself to regret the cause. In its place was pure satisfaction, a high he knew he’d be riding for the rest of the night.

Jon went slack as Martin released him. He grunted petulantly, but quieted once he heard Martin sitting down nearby, quickly gathering Jon into his arms. They were wide and bracing, a welcome presence. Even more welcoming was the hand fumbling with the buckle at the back of his head. There was a beat of tightness, followed by sweet, _sweet_ relief as the ring gag fell from Jon's mouth.

He winced. Christ, that hurt. Jon reached up blindly to rub the soreness from his jaw, licking his dry lips as his mouth closed for the first time in what must have been hours.

Martin's hands were warm at his back, twin support beams keeping him upright. Jon groaned as they found his shoulders, digging into the muscles there and kneading the tension from them. 

"Jon? Are you with me?"

Jon tried to speak, but all that came out was a hoarse cough. It took a few moments of hacking and wheezing- aided in part by Martin's strong hands patting his back- before he was able to speak.

"Yes," he rasped. Martin hugged him tighter.

"God," Martin exhaled, "god, that was- you were amazing. You're so beautiful this way, all soft and pliant and _mine._ And- and Tim's, obviously, I don't mean to say- or, not right now? Are you… done?"

Jon blinked slowly. It was difficult to parse the words. Especially since most of his attention was focused on the way they reverberated through Martin's broad chest, as opposed to their actual meaning.

"Still yours," he mumbled into Martin's shirt. Jon was pretty sure that wasn't an answer to whatever he was being asked, but it felt important to say anyways.

"I- yeah. Yeah, you are." Martin said. He sounded pleased, so Jon must've done something right. "We... should probably leave now, if you’re ready? Tim texted me a bit ago that he got to his flat fine."

Jon hummed in agreement. A few seconds later, Martin cleared his throat. "Jon?”

“Mm?”

“Not that I don’t love holding you,” Martin assured him, “but I can’t exactly get up, like this. Do... can you stand on your own?”

“Ah,” Jon croaked. He realised very suddenly that his legs had gone numb below him. An experimental kick resulted in little more than an uncoordinated twitch, sending pins and needles up his calf like an army of cold, angry ants. “No. No, I don’t think I can.”

“Oh. Oh! Well, er, should I- I mean, would you want me to carry you?”

He merely nodded into Martin’s shirt, throat too raw to continue speaking. He could feel Martin’s hands between them, tucking himself, then Jon, back into their briefs and buttoning their trousers. Straightening their clothes as best as possible. Adjusting his grip on Jon until he was being cradled against Martin’s chest like a doll. 

Jon didn’t mind. He curled into the embrace, hooking his fingers into Martin’s shirt and closing his eyes. If there was anything he trusted Martin to do better than breaking him down, it was putting the pieces back together.


End file.
